


To be compatible, to be adrift.

by dlivius



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: After the breach is closed., Crossover, M/M, Pacific Rim - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6482401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dlivius/pseuds/dlivius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Breach is closed, Jaegers become playthings for the rich, and Kaiju a distant memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To be compatible, to be adrift.

**Author's Note:**

> A Piece I started 2 years ago, and plan to finish now.

There is a bay in Northeastern Iceland called the Vopnafjörður. In that Bay there is a peninsula, where a town of the same name resides. It splits the waters, and North across the Bay is a research facility called Heimilið af flugmönnum. In that iron and cement building there lives a small team of Scientists, a few handy men, and an old Mach 5 Jaeger. 

The end of the Kaiju war marked the turn of the century, but not the end of the Kaiju as predicted and certainly not the end of the Jaeger.

The weapons stayed around to be utilized by wealthy men for meaningless battles secluded in the middle of oceans and watched from private islands. Jaeger piloting turned from heroic status to the meaningless fame of WWE athletes. The silence lasted for a few years, and finally broke when news surfaced of the first successful cloning of Kaiju cells. The same wealthy men hiring Jaeger pilots for gambling fights, hired scientists to work on creating a living breathing Kaiju, to be kept as a pet. The first man that owned a Kaiju, would prove their wealth above anything else.

The first man that owned a Kaiju, only owned it for 21 hours before it swallowed him whole.

There is a bay in Northeastern Iceland that holds a research facility. The work is secret, lucrative, and a series of wealth individuals fund the project too frivolous for governments to touch.

…

“I don’t see what the big deal is, so some rich fat cow wants to own their own personal Kaiju puppy. Let them.” Maram Bodsum, a curly headed white blonde with a baby face, dropped his tray down on the lunch table before swinging a leg over the seat. “It’s their funeral,”

“And the funeral of hundreds of others,” Gil, a slim brunette who looked more the young twenties that they were, spoke up with a frown headed the others direction.

Maram was one of the two Jaeger pilots living in the Facility. He was 23, had studied at one of the more renowned Jaeger Academies in England and had worked as a back-up fighter for the Oil Tycoon Wisner. There he had met Devrim Yavuz, a Jaeger pilot in his mid-forties who quickly became the young blonde’s mentor and Drift Partner. Together they had a drift compatibility of 72%. An average score for anyone within the Jaeger fighting scene, a poor one when taken into a life or death fight with a Kaiju.

That’s why they were here now. Done playing bench to frat boys who drank too much before suiting up, and ready to make a name for themselves in the world of Jaeger technology.

“At least it’d be something interesting,” Maram huffed, picking at his food before sticking a bite in his mouth and looking up innocently to the reprimanding stare Gil was giving him.

Gil sighed and rolled his eyes as he brought his coffee to his lips. He was the primary Jaeger technician at the Facility. He’d gone to Academy with Maram and they’d met there over tea and burnt toast. He didn’t have the finesse or skill of some of the bigger names in the industry—but Maram had his claws sunk in him. Wherever the young pilot went, Gil went.

He’d worked second fiddle on the Mach 8 Wisner’s best fighters used, and co-lead a team of six on remodeling a Mach 7. He was the one who benefited most from the job at the facility; Leading a work team of 21 on the up keep of the Mach 5, The Jaguar. Gil might not have had the artistic flair some of the other Technicians for hire had, but this job didn’t require it and the man who hired them hadn’t wanted it. 

He hadn’t wanted Maram Bodsum either. Having heard enough about the pilot to know his style of fighting was reckless, bruising, and brazen. In and outside of a Jaeger. He’d wanted Gil, however, and Maram wouldn’t let the technician go alone. The three of them, Devrim, Maram, and Gil had been hired on and flown out to Reykjavik to meet the project Director. A Drift theorist named Ziebert Nedelchno. Dr. Nedelchno as he reminded Maram consistently.

“You can’t tell me you’re honestly fine in this wintery hell of nothing,” Maram gripped, one gloved hand reaching out towards the stainless steel coffee pot. His fingers slow to twitch closed around the handle and the pads slipping off the metal. 

“I like not having to worry about deadlines on impossible rebuilding projects,” Gil reached forward to grasp the pot from beneath the pilot’s fumbling fingers. He stood to pour the blonde’s cup as the pilot glowered at it. “Besides, I get more sleep here,”

“All anyone gets is sleep,” Maram muttered out a thanks under his breath as the technician set the pot back down. He picked up his cup with the other hand and took a long, slow sip.

“I suppose you’re going to see Judas today?” Gil asks.

“Tomorrow,” Maram corrected, green eyes not daring to look up from his plate or cup. 

Gil didn’t say anything to that, just poked around his plate. Judas was the facilities head Doctor. Usually his office was only filled with sniffles and colds wanting magic pills. He was open six days a week, and on the seventh he shut everything down and spent the day playing shadow to Maram’s ghost.

With silence over the breakfast table, Gil pulled the blue prints and sketches out of his inner coat pocket and spread them delicately out on a portion of the unused table. 

Dr. Nedelchno had met Gil at the academy, tried to convince the boy to go into research rather than the fights. Gil was set on following Maram—or rather, too apathetic about his life to argue with Maram directing it. However, the doors had still been open after the few years of recreational fights. Devrim had contacted Dr. Nedelchno first, and Nedelchno had contacted Gil later.

The project had nothing to do with fighting, and if Nedelchno had his way it would never be used for the fights. It was meant for the governments, for the protection of the people. Yet the governments had no real interest in it—nor any of the Jaeger Pilots. It was the perfect job for a classified: retired Jaeger Pilot. It was the only real Jaeger related job Maram would ever be able to have again.

“Jaeger Crew report to Lab Z3,” 

The speakers in the cafeteria screeched whenever they were switched on or off, and the announcements rattled something inhuman from a poor radio connection. Gil had always hopped to fiddle with if he ever found the time.

Maram’s brilliant eyes were stuck on the speaker over Gil’s head, a slow smile coming to his pursed lips.

“You hear that!” he gasped, eyes flicking to Gil as the technician poured himself a near overflowing cup. He let out a low hum in response.

“You hear that!” Maram shot to his feet fast enough to cause attentions to turn his way. “We’re gonna finally get to test this shit, fuck, have I been waiting for this day!” 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” was all Gil replied as he sipped off the top of his mug and lazily exited the table. Maram practically bouncing his way towards the doors, dog tags swinging around his neck.

…

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Maram’s gasp of outrage is just a little too sharp for Gil’s liking. He wrinkles his nose and turns away from the scrunched face and narrowed eyes of the little pilot. 

“You called us in here, simply to witness two mice fuck around in a pile of pencil shavings?!” Maram is being ever so poorly restrained by his tall, stern looking co-pilot. The entirety of the small, thick body angled towards Dr. Nedelchno, with fists tight and teeth bared.

“If you’re referring to the first test subjects to survive, then, yes,” Dr. Nedelchno seems unbothered by the display of intended violence towards him. He keeps his arms crossed across his chest and lets dark eyes drift to the Jaeger Crew’s Lieutenant Director. 

A spry woman with a dark tattoo curing around one temple. She’d come from a family that had no interest in the Kaiju or Jaegers other than government action to shut the programs down and make arrests. Raelene Amell, however, had no intention of following in her families footsteps. Disowned for taking an interest in Jaeger fights, and actively teaching herself the different skills needed to pilot one. She never did step into an Academy, or a Jaeger, but she had developed the first system for Pilot classification. A system that improved Drift compatibility testing—and ultimately disqualified pilots such as Maram.

“Complain anymore Bodsum and I’ll let him use you as a test subject,” Lt. Amell purred, inspecting her nails. “Washed up Jaeger Pilots are a dime a dozen these days.” 

Maram stiffened at that, and it was enough for his co-pilot to let him go. Green eyes flickered as they turned on the woman but the man was smart enough to hold his tongue.

“So… how long do you think?” Gil broke the tension, setting his cup down on the table he leaned against and raising eyebrows at Dr. Nedelchno.

The man wasn’t much older than them, somewhere in his mid to late twenties. It was a fact that had surprised both Pilots when greeted at the airport. Gil, having met the man already, was less swayed by this. Then again, he had enjoyed a cup of coffee and a conversation on Neural Handshake processors more than once with the Scientist.

“A month, if everything goes well,” Dr. Nedelchno paused and let dark eyes flick over the blonde pilot glowering on him. “Perhaps you should see Judas, you’re twitching.” 

Maram’s fists clenched under black gloves at the words, and his right hand came to hold his left arm closer to his body. The small, erratic movement underneath his long sleeves and jacket would have gone unnoticed without Nedelchno speaking up.

With a huff, and an incomprehensible curse spat out in French, the little pilot turned and stormed from the room.

“You think he’s fit to do this job?” Lt. Amell asked, folding her arms over her chest and frowning on the Scientist.

“My co-pilot still passes every test that’s been thrown at him. There’s no reason to keep him from getting back into a Jaeger.” Devrim spoke up, voice thick and the frown on his face unwavering under the turn of recent events.

“There’s no reason to put him back in a Jaeger either.” The Lieutenant droned, before unfolding her arms with a sigh. “All I’m asking is that we put the accident into consideration. A pilot has never bounced back from anything like that. There are enough risks on the table without adding him.”

The words dropped into the lab with precision and Gil kept his mouth shut, drawing patterns on his jeans leg rather than defending his friend. He knew the specs, he’d been there in the hospital after it all happened. Maram was lucky he got out with what he had, even if it meant being blacklisted on every Jaeger pilot hiring service available.

“I hired Judas for a reason,” Dr. Nedelchno spoke up finally, eyes meeting Devrim’s before switching to Gil’s. “Have you taken everything into consideration?”

The technician nodded, drummed fingers against his cup before picking it up. 

“I can’t find a good moment to talk to Judas though.” He breathed before sipping, evading any investigation into why. 

“I’ll talk to Dr. Bee for you,” Devrim gave a squeeze to the technician’s shoulder before turning from the room.

When the door had swung shut, and silence reigned in again Lt. Amell spoke up.

“You’ve taken the tests too, haven’t you? Why can’t we have you work with Yavuz on this?” her brown eyes pierced through Gil as she stared at him. They had become friends in one way or another through this project, through arguments and agreements on what would benefit the Pilots’ unique brand of movement.

“Gil is too good at what he does, I can’t lose him or his contributions.” Dr. Nedelchno’s words made Gil heave a sigh, and avoid the staying gaze of the Lieutenant.  
“That being said… can I finish my breakfast? I’ve got a cockpit to re-design this afternoon.”

…

Dr. Nedelchno had always dreamed of creating a way for any two persons to be able to drift. As a young kid he’d played at Jaeger piloting with his siblings and cousins. As a young man he’d worked his hardest to get into Tokyo’s finest Neurology University, and excelled in his classes on Drift technology and Neural Handshake theory. At the end of his seven year degree he propositioned for a research project on closing the gap between individuals who were incompatible to drift. He was turned down.

Nedelchno had worked for 3 years as a recruiting agent for his school’s research facilities. In that time he’d scraped together enough money to take his ideas to a Convention for new Jaeger fighter technologies. There he’d been able to pitch to 200 of the wealthiest men on the planet. 4 decided to fund. None of which were protection minded.

With the Kaiju seemingly gone, and recreation the only purpose for Jaegers, the average compatibility for a jaeger pilot pair was a mere 69.7%. No one tried hard to have a completely compatible pair anymore. Pilots were bought and traded like football players. There was no time, or need for them to create bonds with their co-pilots. If they could fight together, they could pilot together. Even still, the higher the compatibility, the more successful a Jaeger pilot pair was. There was some interest in Nedelchno’s theories, if not for the same reasons.

His original plan had consisted of hiring two Jaeger pilots who had never worked together, and using training techniques as well as his theories on drift compatibility and difference machine to allow the pair to pilot a Jaeger better than any pair with the average drift compatibility. It was supposed to allow incompatible mates to drift compatibly. That plan of course was trashed when he found out that he could not hire Gil as lead technician without hiring the pilot pair the man worked for.

Devrim Yavuz had experience in piloting, and in fighting. Although he’d made the personal choice to retire his position as a lead fighter in order to help train new fighters on how to handle a Jaeger. In Nedelchno’s eyes he was perfect. Experienced in piloting, with no intentions of merely fighting. Maram, however was different.

The young pilot had an above decent record from his Academy, had managed to be hired on by one of the top ten wealthiest men in the world, and had a penchant for brutality. He was perfect for the fights, and less so for research. He was also newly declassified. 

Nedelchno had known several fight pilots in his life. He knew what declassification did to a person, how strong the want to prove yourself was. He didn’t need someone like that messing up his project. He didn’t want the risk—but he trusted Gil could handle it, he trusted the projects funders would supply the money for a good Doctor. They had.

When Nedelchno had brought the trio to the restaurant in Vopnafjörður to meet their Jaeger Director, Lt. Amell had been furious at his selection. She’d pulled him aside, hissing at him about the accident, about the news reports, about how could you be bloody fucking serious bringing that train wreck into this. Nedelchno had heard about the accident, he’d read articles over it. He’d hoped, in some way that he could bring back substance into the young man’s life, like how his funders hoped to receive better press on his eventual discovery because of the young pilot.

…

“If you could be any kind of Kaiju, what would you be?” One of the twins asked as she flicked the blow torch off and pulled up her hood.

“Oh,” the second twin hummed, scampering down the infrastructure of the cock pit. His black hands looking sharp against the blue glow of the generator. “That’s a hard one…. like… maybe a mix between a hammer head and a komodo dragon?” 

“With teeth like a saber tooth?” the first twin, Oomba, asked and her brother let out a sharp laugh.

“It’s like you can read my mind!” he shouted over the drone of the TV they’d wheeled in, and the sounds of other crew members working on the wiring.

“Twins,” Oomba chirped, giving her brother a playful shove as Gil strode into the cockpit. He had deft feet for navigating the wire and steel unfinished frame, and a hard hat was jammed roughly on his head.

“Can’t you turn that shit off?” He asked, waving a hand towards the TV that was currently streaming advertisements for one of the lower budget, more public Jaeger fights.

“No can do, bossman.” Kim, the male twin, hopped over to the other side of the TV, and looped an arm around the hanging equipment for the pilot drift connections. “Some rich lady from Darfur has a group of scientists working on making a whole line of Kaiju. Not just one, like five of them she can breed. Supposed to be genetically docile.” 

Gil stared at the worker, a choked laughing coming out as he huffed: “Genetically Docile?”

“2032, the year of the first annual Kaiju breeding completion,” Oomba snickered, the sound dying out as she realized her brother and Gil hadn’t joined in. She turned to find her sibling staring at their boss as Gil’s eyes seemed glazed and focused beyond the male twin.

“Gil? Yo, boss, you alright?” Oomba asked, scrambling to her feet, and reaching one charred gloved hand out to tap her bosses arm. Gil blinked, glancing to her and choking down a noise of surprise.

“How’s the framework coming?” he asked.

“Alright… hey, someone said something about adjustments for the gimp… when are we getting specs on that?” she crossed her arms, raising a thick eyebrow that was nearly invisible against her skin in the low light.

“He’s not a gimp,” Gil bit out, pulling his helmet off to run a hand over his hair. “Soon. I haven’t figured it out yet. Just worry about condensing the components of the cockpit and making room for whatever Zib throws our way.” 

“You mean Doctor Nedelchno?” Kim asked and Gil gave a grunt in response, turning towards the door and picking his way over the framework as he left.

“Hey… you think his parent’s got killed by that last Kaiju? I mean, they’re dead, aren’t they?” Oomba asked, watching the empty passage way they’re boss had left through. Kim punched her in the shoulder and she hissed, massaging it and throwing him a playful look of dark eyes.

“Hundred bucks and a beer says these new Kaiju spring in a week.” Kim said, climbing his way back up to help wire the inside of the ceiling.

“Make it a hundred and a case, and they’ll do it in a day,” Oomba called up to him. She pulled the blow torch hose up and looped it around her shoulders as she picked her way over to front of the cockpit.

“Deal,” her brother answered.

…

“What do you mean they’re coming here?” Dr. Nedelechno swivels his chair around from his desk, momentarily done tinkering around with coding and memory neutralizers to stare at Lt. Amell.

“Look, there’s going to be another Kaiju attack, possibly five,” Lt. Amell shrugs hers hands out of the fold they had against her chest and lets them drop at her side. “We’ have the closest standing Jaeger base to the area, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“There’s a base in Poland, and if I remember my geography correctly, that is closer to Sweden then we are.” Nedelchno replied, jabbing the air with his stylus.

“That’s the thing, she’s not living in Sweden. She’s a Swede living in Finland, near the Northeastern border with Russia, and paying more money then you or I have ever seen to have five new Kaiju created.” Lt. Amell explained, sighing and pulling another swivel chair from a different part of the room. “The project is being maintained by geneticists who claim they can pacify the Kaiju, make them domesticated. Obviously, after the last mishap, some of the governments aren’t as trusting of this as before.”

Nedelchno didn’t level his look with anything receptive and the woman pressed her lips thinner.

“They’re sending the two Jaegers that took down the last Kaiju, their pilots, and another two Jaegers plus some of the best pilots in the fights. They want me to train and lead a strike if it comes to that. My hands are tired.” Lt. Amell admits, open armed.

“You didn’t have to reveal the location of my facility. You could have refused.” Nedelchno muttered darkly. 

“Well, I didn’t,” Lt. Amell stood. “Straighten up, were having visitors Doctor.”

…

Maram stares up at the fluorescent bulbs, so bright they feel as if they’re sucking all the water out of his eyes. Dehydrating him like a desert, while the Doctor’s fingers work their way over the surface of his left arm.

“That should stop the twitching,” Dr. Judas Bee’s voice is a work of art; Music to the pilot’s ears even if he doesn’t want to hear what’s being said. 

The green-white light pours down on his unfocused eyes as Maram’s jaw works out a mediocre, thanks.

“Don’t you want to look?” Judas asks, the shadow of his movement casts across the walls and ceiling as he stands and slides the rolling tray back to where it goes.

“No,” Maram feels like when he’s drifting and his head is blissfully silent, and painfully full of thought all at once. Something about the checkup room in the medical lab makes him feel like that, always.  
Judas sighs, the sound of his breath alone boasting deep lungs, and something heavy in the way air escapes his lips. It’s a sound Maram doesn’t mind hearing. The shadowy casts of the doctor moving around the room are easy for the pilot to track in his peripheral. It’s easy to tell when the warmth of another body comes close in the halfheartedly warm rooms of the facility; especially when one’s only wearing jeans and their boots.

“I want to teach you how to take care of yourself, Maram, and I can’t do that if you won’t let me. If you keep refusing to acknowledge you’ve changed.” Judas’s voice is smooth and deep, it sounds like a voice that would come from a man with dark eyes, thick black hair, and a never quite clean shaven face all on olive skin.

Judas sits at Maram’s right side, and the pilot allows his head to fall to look the Doctor in the eyes. They’ve known each other for a while- or rather their first time meeting was right after the accident, and not in the small cold concrete rooms of the Research Facility. ‘Known’ implies some sort of understanding to what goes on behind the others face, to what they think of. Maram only knows two people like that. Gil, who is so easy to read it’s laughable, and Devrim who’s mind Maram has been allowed to plunder shamelessly multiple times.

“You have a great figure,” It’s maybe the first words, outside of an anesthetized daze, that the Doctor has spoken to Maram about anything other than business.

“I think you meant hefty,” Maram corrects, not letting his gaze drop from those dark eyes but not letting the way the Doctor’s hand moves to hover over his chest go unnoticed either. 

Judas’s touch is heavy, warm, and just the slightest bit callused on his skin. It feels something wonderful to the pilot, who is not used to having bare skin to anyone anymore. The doctor let’s his searching hand touch, and move over the smaller man’s chest, ribs, resting over his stomach.

“Not all visible muscle is strong muscle,” Judas says and Maram feels the twitch of a smile against his lips. He stores it away, instead responding smartly.

“Would you like me to tense up for you?” Maram’s words seem to shock the Doctor. He freezes, but doesn’t start to remove his hand before Maram has already tensed the muscles of his stomach. The small action keeps the doctor from moving his hand, egging him to press hard against those muscles. His thumb scrapes through the faint hair distending from the pilot’s navel, and Maram closes his eyes.

“You know I’ve a masters in psychology too,” Judas withdraws his hand as he speaks, watches those green eyes flick open to stare at him. “Whatever is holding you back-“

“Thank you,” Maram’s quip is quick, as he’s shoving himself upright off the bench. “For taking time out of your busy day to see me.” 

“Maram,” Judas tries to breathe plaintively, watching as the blonde pulls on his tank, and then his dark turtle neck. “Please, hear me out. You aren’t the first pilot to-“

“I don’t need you’re professional life entangling with mine any more than it already is.” Maram snaps, shoving his hands roughly into the black leather gloves he always wore.

“Just my professional life?” Judas asks, a light hint to his voice that the pilot merely glowers at. 

“I’ll tell Gil about your psychiatric training. If anyone in this wretched places needs that kind of help, it’s him.” Maram made the point of saying before turning, opening the door, and hollering that Judas would see whoever was next.

…

“I thought we didn’t have to change anything on the Pilot Sit-ins,” Louise lowered the blueprints with a sharp fluttering sound and eyed Gil through her prescription safety goggles.

“That was never final,” Gil replied, watching as the woman bit her lip between grinding teeth and turned her eyes back to the roll of blue paper in her hands.

“This is ridiculous, I can’t go off this. I need something more to go off, something tangible.” Louise groused.

“You know, given that he still won’t talk to me, I think you’ll do fine with just diagrams for now.” Gil folded his arm, waiting for the reply—waiting for whatever casual snide grace came from the Drift tech engineers mouth. 

“You know, sometimes I feel like you’re just testing my abilities,” She managed, eyes skating over the design once more.

“And I always feel like you’re testing my patience.” Gil replied.

“You’d have to have patience to test,” Louise rolled the blue print up offering the man a rare quirk of a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Gil nodded, watched as the woman turned to yell something at a few of her helping hands. Her fingers splotched in dark grease and the viscous white mess of electrical insulation paste. She was slow to turn back and when she did, eyes lingering before coming to the man’s face, he spoke up.

“We want it within a week, to test run,” Gil frowned and the woman raised her dark eyebrows at him.

“We?” She questioned.

“I.” Gil gritted out, rolling his eyes. “If you need any extra supplies, you know where to find me.” They were his last words as he turned to stroll out of the drift tech lab.

“I’d really like to see him, you know,” Louise called after him, huffing out a smile and unrolling the blueprints to look back over them. “I appreciate the color contrast,” the words spoken more to herself than to the figure that had already disappeared entirely.

…

It took little time at all for word to travel in a small facility of under 200 employees. So in less than two days everyone knew about the arriving guests. A week from that they were scrabbling to get the best places at the windows looking out onto the helicopter pad, waiting to catch a glimpse of the world’s newfound hero’s.

“Come on,” Maram’s voice was barely a breathed huff as he curled fingers around Gil’s wrist and hauled him up on top of the cement roof over top the Launchpad stairs. The technician shuffled to a seat beside the pilot, a low hum in his throat. A noise of thanks, if you knew Gil.

“You seem to have the best seats in the house,” Gil leaned forward to drop his arms between his folded legs.

“Courtesy of glorious abs,” Maram breathed, side eyeing the technician who was holding back a snicker. The blonde rolled his eyes before flicking them out to see and the incoming dark helicopters.  
“Zib said the Jaeger’s were going to be flown in later tonight.” Gil muttered, shifting to open his jacket despite the below freezing wind chill. He fiddled around in the pockets before pulling out a tarnished silver flask. Maram eyed it heavily, and the technician just ignored the look, taking a swig.

“And did oh glorious Dr. Nedelchno say anything else?” the pilot hissed through clenched teeth.

“Just that he’s staying up all night to run tests.” Gil shrugged, took another swig. “I don’t think he likes visitors.”

“He’s not the only one,” Maram’s eyes drifted from the flask to the launch pad without hardly glancing to the accusative shot of brown eyes thrown his way.

The copters were just landing, one at a time with large metal rotor blade’s slowing their spins and just barely missing each other. The doors opened from the inside, and people jumped out—first men looking as if they belonged to a swat team, second civilians.

“Who are they?” Gil asked into the shrieking wind, and numbing buzz of helicopters.

“Kesserah Hawke and Fenris, co-pilots to the Mach 10 Jaeger the long sword. Some call her the Champion, because of her no losses winning streak.” Maram pointed to a muscular woman in a red leather jacket and the short, thin man beside her. His hair a color Gil knew had to come out of a bottle. Along with them was a woman in a close fitting knit dress, but Maram made no comment on her.

“He, they call him Sir Darcy. Absolute gentleman in and out of the Jaeger. Threw his first match because he thought he’d injured his opponent.” Maram pointed to a thick shouldered man who was talking to one of the military men as he walked towards the launch pad stairs—enclosed in the building under which they sat. Gil watched as hazel eyes flicked up their way, and back again without hesitation.

“Those two,” Maram’s voice brought Gil’s eyes to where the blonde pointed at a short man with clipped hair walking beside what looked to be a GQ model. “Helped take down that latest Kaiju. Siddeussidea Tabris, and Alistair Theirin. Their drift compatibility is nothing to brag about, but they fight like they’re going to war.” 

Gil glanced between the two men, the tall blonde trying to maintain a composure and failing as the other flailed around like a child. His laugh loud enough to hear over the wind.

“God, to see them fight… I went on a date once to one of their fights. Public avenues… Tabris could solidly be bought up by some of the pros… but he doesn’t go…” Maram’s voice was wistful and Gil felt himself snorting out a laugh as he brought his flask back to his lips.

“You may think the fights are cinematic trash, Gil, but to others their art.” Maram didn’t have enough venom in him to snap the words properly, but he did jar out of his day dream lull.

“And you’re last pilots, the ones to deliver the final blow on that Kaiju, Zevran Aranai. Seemingly all talk, he’s manned the Spanish Conquistador for five years. Three of those were with Tabris, but now… well you know who that is.” Maram leaned back as he spoke and Gil’s attention stole from his flask, and the heavenly delight of whiskey warming his stomach, to the pale white face and bright red hair that appeared from the last helicopter.

“Altahn Surana,” Gil’s words drew out on a breath stolen by the wind.

The spry pilot took the offered hand of his co-pilot, and stepped down onto the launch pad. The wind whipped his hair out of his braid in pieces and he was quick to fuddle an oversized, fur lined hood over his head

“Holy… Christ.” Gil exhaled. “That’s Altahn Surana, Maram that’s—you knew.” Gil turned an accusing look to the blonde who was smirking. He raised the nigh invisible eyebrows he had and motioned to the launch pad and that porcelain, too-pretty to be a Jaeger fighter pilot man. 

“They say Aranai and Surana have the highest drift compatibility seen to date. They say they’re in love.” Maram’s smirk resonated throughout his voice. “Why don’t we go ask an old friend from the Academy to join us for dinner, maybe congratulate him on his Heroic status.”

Gil punched the pilot hard on the shoulder before scrabbling down to follow the new pilots inside. Maram close at his heels, laughing.

…

Altahn Surana had attended the same Jaeger Academy as Maram and Gil. They’d even been friendly; although to say they were friends was over stepping some boundaries. It was hard to make friends at Academies where everyone was vying for the next spot in some rich man’s pocket. Even Technicians and Fighters got into fights—mostly over the treatment of the school’s few simulators and practice Jaegers. Luckily, Surana had never once expressed an outright dying need to be the next prime time fighter. Instead, his quiet and reserved nature had made him the prime target of everyone’s apathy. His skill, the target of their jealousy.

“Top of our class, and you didn’t even sign on with anyone?” Gil asks, scraping his bread through the remains of his stew. Altahn’s grin is just as small, and deprecating as it always was—or so it seems.  
Maram has been keeping his eyes locked on their classmate all through dinner, and there’s something off about him. Something different or changed- and it has nothing to do with the lithe Latino giving him bedroom eyes any moment the redhead spares him a look.

“Co-top of our class.” Maram states, shooting Gil a firm look. It’s the first time his eyes have darted off Surana. “Don’t forget we tied.” It’s a soft dark kind of murmur, and Gil kicks him under the table.  
“No one’s forgetting. You did well for yourself, at least, while you could.” Surana’s words are easy, pleasant even. “I’ll admit I was a little surprised to see you here.” The kid was always fond of using language in a way that seemed more civilized, but the air to his speech now seemed almost practiced. As if he’d noticed, or given more thought into his word choice.

“A little surprised to see you in one piece, that is,” the other pilot, Zevran as he implored to be called, spoke up with a smirk curling his lips. Maram shot him a foul look before Altahn Surana was making a shushing noise.

“Zev, behave,” Surana hissed, the words indicating the other pilot was more trouble than this frequently.

Altahn didn’t sign on with any of the big names in Jaeger fighting. He did, however, get handpicked for a group of specialized fighting. A sort of, graduate school for Jaeger pilots. The man who had offered him the position was named Duncan, and Surana was brought on to join a slew of other pilots. Theirin and Tabris among them.

“So… you know everybody who came with you?” Gil asked, voice hushing a little lower.

“Well, yes.” Altahn gave that small smile again, the one Maram was growing tired of. “Alistair and Sid took down the Kaiju with me… as well as trained. I choose the others specifically. Kesserah Hawke was the hardest to convince… and it’s a shame Darcy’s co-pilot retired weeks before I asked him.” Altahn shrugs, opens his mouth to speak more when a hand comes down on his shoulder heavy enough to make a sound against his sweater.

“I figure you’ll introduce me?” The musical voice that speaks up is accompanied by a tray clattering on to the table and Siddeussidea Tabris dropping into a seat next to the redhead. No one misses the twisted look of embarrassment, distaste, and resignation on Surana’s face.

The pale man glances from the redhead to the rest of the table before cracking a smile.

“Fine then, Siddeussidea. Everyone calls me Sid.” He holds out a hand to shake, and Gil takes it. Maram does not. The man hardly looks offended, raising his eyebrows and dropping his hands to his tray.

“So what’re we talking about?” Sid asks, picking up his bread and tearing it in half. His eyes are a stormy blue, the same color of the ocean outside the facility, and he looks around the table with an amused light to his eyes. “Nothing? Come on… Zevran, be a doll, enlighten me.” He leans against the table to flash those eyes at the Latino who gives a half smirk and runs fingers through his hair.  
“Perhaps we’re talking about the improvements to The Spanish Conquistador’s fighting scores when it changed co-pilots,” he breathes, and Sid snorts. The dark look that flickers over his eyes is not too easily hidden.

“You’re both stationed here at the facility right?” Sid asks, dropping torn pieces of his bread into his soup. “What’s it you do here, anyway? What are you, scientists? Technicians?” 

“I’m a Jaeger Pilot,” Maram replies.

The other pilot’s face does a sort of flipping motion from inquisitive and prodding to wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“You are… aren’t you? Little Bodsum,” Sid’s eyes flick to the blonde’s hands, the inky black of leather gloves. “Or… I guess I should say were. It’s not like you’re piloting anything anytime soon,” the man speaks with a laugh, and Maram is out of his seat before the look can grow sober.

“Maram,” Gil breathes, but the blonde jerks on one foot and storms away from the table.

“Can’t you stop being an asshole for three seconds?” Altahn breaks the silence with words that drop like daggers. Gil turns to stare at him, surprised such viciousness can come out of the quiet bookworm from his youth. 

“I’m the asshole?” Sid asks sharply, responding with a matching glare.

“I think Isabella is calling me over to join her in an entirely not hostile conversation, Gil?” Zevran picks his way off the bench rather graceful and motions to another table. With one last look at the glaring pilots, Gil shuffles off his own bench to join.

“So… Maram said you piloted with Ta-Sid, before Surana.” Gil let’s himself throw quick glances over his shoulder to the two pilots baring teeth and snarling out hissed sentences. 

“He’s exactly right. Sid and I were a team, before Altahn and I became a team,” The Latino responds and Gil frowns. The look must have been caught out of the man’s peripheral because Zevran sighs, tightens the grip of the hand he’d slung around Gil’s shoulders. “Altahn and I are more compatible, however my decision wasn’t a purely business minded one… you need to trust someone inside your head, to Drift. You need to care about them.” 

“Maram said you were lovers,” Gil muttered, feeling very much so out of sorts without Maram around to act as his guiding point. He never was much for conversation. 

“Maram is the blonde one, no? He’s smarter then he looks.” Zevran mused, stopping as they approached the table full of the other fighters. 

…

Judas isn’t expecting the door to rattle open, not really. He isn’t expecting the green eyes that stare up at him, or the dour twist to those plump lips.

“Heard you left the cafeteria without dessert,” He holds out the metal tray with a chocolate cupcake with buttercream frosting sitting there like it’s something precious. Maram eyes the thing down, before his clear green eyes settle back on the Doctor.

“Usually people don’t like to offer people like me sweets,” He replies, but that doesn’t change the fact that he steps aside. Maram makes no move to beckon the doctor in—he’s not some evil wizard—but the shuffle out of the open doorway is welcoming enough.

“I don’t believe in not eating sweets,” Judas steps in, eyes glancing over the bare room. There’s a bed with dark sheets that look almost satin, a few pictures on the wall, letters cluttering the desk with two very different neat forms of cursive.

“Or you figure I’ll have to give piloting up when they can’t fit me in a drift suit,” Maram doesn’t stop from taking the cupcake off the tray and turning to place it on one of the low shelves. He brushes his hands off, before passing Judas as the man moves the tray behind his back.

“Suits can be made into different sizes,” Judas remarks.

Maram raises an eyebrow at that, possible back fire coming to his lips. He purses them instead, and moves to sit on the bed. The sheen of the sheets shifts under the lights as he does, answering the question Judas hadn’t really considered. They are satin.

“Did you come here to offer more of your psychiatric services, or just food for me to eat my feelings?” Maram asks, voice still snappish, voice maybe always a bit snappish.

“Neither,” Judas replies, and he would say more—he came to say more but his eyes are lingering on the open chest of drawers and the several articles of clothes that are half lying out of a few open drawers. One in particular catching his eye, drawing up its own questions and conclusions, making Judas feel as if he shouldn’t have come at all.

“I like leather,” Maram’s voice calls the Doctor’s attention back instantly. Those dark eyes a little wide, and flicking to the pilot’s gloved hands before coming back to his face.

“I see that.” Judas clears his throat, and keeps his eyes from wandering back to the chest of drawers. “It’s a corset,” he manages to say quietly.

Maram stares at the man, leans back on his hands and tips his head as his lips peel in small smirk.

“Do you want to see it on?” He asks, watching something flicker across the man’s face. Watching as Judas has to put a hand on the doorknob to steady himself. Shutting the door in the process.

“Yes,” the reply comes on a shaken breath.


End file.
